


Healing

by therisingharvestmoon



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 17:12:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3986197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therisingharvestmoon/pseuds/therisingharvestmoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil helps heal a injured human from the Dale, and they find a common ground despite their differences. Thranduil/OFC. Oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Healing

**Author's Note:**

> Request was: hello yes could i please request a human reader x thranduil oneshot? with physically injured human/sexualhealing!Thranduil? 
> 
> This is way fluffy/less porny that I thought it would be. I hope whoever requested this enjoys. My username is the same on tumblr if you'd like to request something.

He didn’t see her for the first time.

Or rather, King Thranduil of Mirkwood, the Greenwood, sat upon his proud beast and watched the fragile mortals scrabble for food. Hers were but a pair of hands reaching up from the crush. Poor souls. 

It was the first time the Elvenking had ventured this far north in an age, and even longer since he had even seen men. In the spider-silk of his memories of old, Thranduil had recalled them as not much more than animals, only above the dwarves in height, only above the hobbits in their steel and wood crafts. None had ever come close to matching elves. The jewellery making not near so fine, the spinning and weaving and knitting of their women-folk child’s work to an elf of either sex. Nor did their women go to battle.

He did not see her, but noticed the dirt upon the haggard faces. He saw the cuts and grazes on hands and cheeks. And it was to this human woman the great Thranduil was now drawn, reflecting on the differences of their kinds. When night had fallen finally, and his sentries stood guard, only then did he see her.

It was cold in these foothills, even for an elf. Dressed in mail still, Thranduil had hoped to breathe in the air and see the starlight from this place, seldom thought of. 

The brick houses and towers popped up out of the side of the mountain like mushrooms.The human folk were all huddled up together by their cook fires, in the square and long-deserted alleys of Dale, trying to shelter from the wind berating them. The King stood, watching from the foot of the hill, the contrast between the warm yellow light and the blue-black blanket of the stars.

“Oh!”

Thranduil turned at the noise.

The young human woman had stumbled to a halt in front of him as she reached the end of the path at the bottom of the hill, just past the elven tents. His eyes found her face and he blanched. Eyes wide, the woman bowed hurriedly, stuttering.

“I - I - I’m sorry, your majesty. Y- y- your grace!”

Thranduil fixed his face to its normal stoic mask and cocked his head to the side, smiling wanly. 

“You are forgiven. Why does one so small wonder so far?” He gestured up to the glowing lights in the newly populated city. He was gladdened to see that she mistook his initial shock as royal snobbery. A terrible, glistening burn covered half of her face.

“Oh. I… I am sorry, King Thranduil. I didn’t know we weren’t allowed - ”

He tilted his head back. “You may come and go as you please. You are not my people.”

The pained grimace swimming about her face deepened, and she hissed at the tightening of the tender flesh. “No my lord, we are no one’s people,” she replied through gritted teeth. “I am sorry I disturbed you.” Bowing again, the young woman turned to leave.

“Wait!”

His voice rang out much louder than either of them had expected, and she flinched, turning back to him. Thranduil had her fixed with his gaze as blue and burning as the stars so far away, and she looked as trapped as she felt, like a doe spotted in the thicket, unsure as to whether this is a trap, and whether she should run. 

For a second time, the Elvenking’s expression mellowed, and his eyes flicked to her face directly. “Could they not find a poultice or salve for you in my baskets of gifts?”

Her eyes flickered down. “I left that for the younger ones, my lord. And…” She bit her lip gently. He found it endearing.

“And?”

She sighed. “I had thought the stinging would keep me from thinking… from thinking on all we’ve lost, my lord.”

Thranduil nodded, his eyelashes sweeping slowly over his eyes in a slow blink. “I believe I understand. But now?” 

How did he know? 

“But now… It hurts unbearably.” Her eyes stung from the smoke and gleamed with tears.

“Your face?” He asked in barely a whisper.

She smiled a faux smile which made the tears spill. “It too.”

Thranduil watched her face carefully, taking a few lithe steps forward. He was aware that he towered over her, smaller even than the smallest elven woman in his court as she was.

“Come with me.”

She scooped up the layers of her plain brown dress and followed, hair falling to cover her face. The King nodded to each guard they passed until they reached his royal tent, their eyes glazing over her with nothing more than slight curiosity. However, this turned to outright confusion when Thranduil beckoned her to follow him in, surprising her as much as his sentries.

“Come in, please.”

She gulped as he let the gossamer flap fall down behind her. The walls and floors were covered in warm cloaks. There was polished wood and marble furniture, edges adorned with gold. Silk pillows covered the mattress on the floor in the corner. It was a pavilion more extravagant than any house she’d ever been in. Thranduil appeared at her side and she jumped. He had been watching her take it all in.

“Here, something for the pain.”

He offered in his long and slender hand a jar of a mint-green paste. She simply gaped, staring up at him.

His lips quirked upward. “Shall I?”

She nodded, and would have been shocked at a king applying ointment to the face of a weaver if the situation had not already been so shocking - a human in the close quarters of a Silvan elf.

Thranduil stood in front of her, two fingers dipped in the jar. “Lift your hair.”

It stung as she pulled the strands from the still-raw burn that covered her forehead, cheek and jaw. It stung even more as King Thranduil applied the pale paste. She whimpered.

“Shhhh, it will feel better soon.” His lips quirked into an encouraging smile. “It is lovely, you are aware?”

Her eyes were closed tightly, her teeth gritted. “My face?”

“Your hair,” he whispered. “The colour of a deer’s pelt, or the leaves in autumn.”

He smiled to see her flush, and even more widely when her eyes flicked open in surprise and she moaned slightly.

“Oh - it’s so cold.”

Thranduil almost laughed. “Much better?”

She smiled, that smile of relief. “Much!” Dazed, her fingers felt gently around the burn as the skin glazed over, knitting together, still red and angry, but no longer open and raw. Reality seemed to strike then. “King Thranduil…”

He stood over by an ornate wooden table, pouring them both wine. “Here, this is for the rest.”

She stood in disbelief, taking the cup out of courtesy, drinking it out of nerves. “Thank you, my king. That is to say… I would not have expected to be treated this way. By no elf, or king, or man.” The wine spun in her head instantly - a thin brown soup made from vegetables and barley was all she had eaten for a day and night. 

Thranduil looked at her very seriously, and she expected he was done with her and would ask her to leave, immediately. However, his eyes narrowed, and his voice was low. “Well, I believe you should. Expect treatment fit for a queen. Your hair is as lovely as your face, and you deserve to feel no pain and feel safe.”

She blinked, completely dumbfounded, driven further into a sense of disbelief and unreality rather than relieved from it.

“I thank you, for your flattery, but you don’t have to say that.”

Thranduil frowned. “And why not? Do trust me, I do not waste breath to say things I do not mean.” He stepped back, and began circling the room slowly, his voice becoming lighter in tone but no less intense. “It has been a long time since I have had spoken such words to another. I am sorry if it frightens you. You may leave on your own behest, you know? You owe me nothing, except to go and live a long and happy life.”

Was she being dismissed? He closed off the current as soon as he had opened the floodgates.

“I… Yes, my king, if you wish, only…”

He stopped being her. “Speak plainly, as I have.”

She nodded. “Yes my king. I will leave if you are asking me to, but if you don’t want me to, then I would gladly… stay.”

He swiftly stepped around in front of her, taking the breath from her lungs once more. “I am not asking you to leave. What I will ask…” Thranduil stepped closer. “What I will ask is what you make of me?”

She frowned, not quite understanding. “I don’t… know…?”

He was so close she could feel his breath on his face, and she did not stop him when he raised his hand to her uninjured cheek. “If I need to make myself clearer, I could.” The fingers stroked downward delicately, smoothing the soft peach fuzz of her cheek and curling round her chin. “I could… show you…?”

She nodded, expecting a kiss, but freezing as the Elvenking held her face while his own seemed to melt away, on the same side as her own burn, a mirror image. The scar marred his otherwise beautiful face, clearly seared by dragon fire, perpetually unhealed, but masked by eleven magics.

Her eyes flickered to the burned side of his face briefly, but she did not flinch away. “I… I am glad I understand your meaning now, my lord.” She blinked, so close to his face. “You… you are like ice. You b-burn with intensity, but you seem cold. B-b-but cold, like spring, my king.”

He smirked, appearing surprised but pleased. “Thranduil.” He corrected.

“My- Thranduil.” Her brow furrowed and she stepped back, his warm hand slipping from her even warmer face. “This cannot be real.”

His face twitched. “I can assure you, it is. It is the most real thing I have felt for years. Hundreds of them.” He watched her face carefully as he spoke. “Does that frighten you?”

She gulped, reconnecting the space in between them. “A little bit, but not as much as being alone when all of this is over. Not as much as it did before I ran into you this evening, my k- Thranduil.” She dipped her head, but this time a gentle hand darted out and fingers wrapped around the back of her warm neck, under that auburn hair longer even than his, and he kissed her mouth.

Like sunlight melting snow, her tentative hands found him and he wrapped her up in his long arms. He touched her hair and face and back with slender elven hands, around those strangely rounded ears, endearing and lovely. Her chest was fuller than any elf, pressed against his torso. She sighed as he kissed down her neck, his eyebrows furrowing in intensity. 

Stripped of all layers, he laid her down on a soft fur in the corner of the room, away from the triggering torch light. His skin almost shone in the dark with it’s pale intensity. Her hair picked up the dim light in the way the sun hit the leaves just before its rise.

Skin to skin from neck to toe, he whispered into her throat. “It has been so long.” 

The time was unimaginable to her, and she decided not to think of if it was her he was seeing beneath black, half-closed lashes as he entered her with a long, low moan. She shuddered, wet and keening breathlessly. He kissed her, kneaded her, stroked her, looked in her eyes as long as it took for her to know it was real, and after, she took his hand up and over the curve of her hip, her breast, her face and hair, for him to know it was her. 

Thranduil saw her now. Above her, smiling. He would see her now, again, and for long after she was gone.


End file.
